Demons
by DariaLovesRizzles
Summary: "You don't normally guess, but you were right about one thing without having data beforehand. She is out of this world. In more ways than you care to imagine." High school. AU.
1. Chapter 1

It's your first week in junior high. You don't know why you were so excited about it throughout the summer holiday, nothing has changed since last year.

Your other classmates acknowledge your existence only when you are assigned a project.

You stopped thinking about it a while ago, and decided you take comfort in the fact that at least your teachers love you.

No, you rephrase.

Your teachers love your knowledge.

No one truly loves _you_. Well, maybe expect for your parents, but they are never home to let you know if it's still true or not.

Your mother is an artist and your father a teacher. They used to take you with them wherever they traveled, which meant changing schools at least once a year.

When you started high school you told them you'd like to settle in your residence in Boston, so you don't have to change schools anymore. You assured them you can take care of yourself, and that they have no reason to worry.

All they did was smile, kiss you on the cheek and wonder out loud when had you become so responsible and exclaim with surprise how fast time flew past them.

And they turned away, returning to their work.

Two years later, and you still hate yourself for expecting anything else from them.

You have everything anyone could possibly ask for. By the age of ten you have seen more of this world than other people see in their whole life.

Then why do you feel so empty?

A void in your chest that is too stubborn to disappear, no matter how much you read, or learn. Always pressing against the walls of your chest cavity, reminding you.

Reminding you the difference between being lonely and being alone.

Reminding you how you are both.

It's your first week in junior high. And nothing has changed.

…

…

…

You are making your way towards the gym when you hear them. In front of you, you recognize some girls from your English group giggling and whispering and failing miserably at being discreet while pointing at a boy in the yard, sitting on a bench all by himself. Usually you turn your head to see who their victim is this time and then turn away, minding your business, not wasting your time with brainless school girls who believe they have just found their true love every time they spot a good-looking young man.

But something about the way he has his arms sprawled out on top of the bench, or the way he looks up at the sky make you stop and really _look_ at him.

Taking in his posture you assume he is about 6 feet tall, and noticing the hint of facial hair, his broad shoulders and hard angular jaw, you guess he can't be more than one year younger than you.

He stretches and rises from the bench, throwing his leather jacket nonchalantly over one shoulder. You can clearly see the way his muscles clench and then relax underneath his tight white t-shirt.

You haven't seen him before, he is such a fine specimen of human anatomy you would have recognized him if you did.

The kind of boy you'd consider dating, if he turned out to be at least half as smart as he is good-looking.

You continue your way to Physical Education, not seeing the tall brunette standing next to a tree behind you who has been watching you intently for the past 5 minutes.

…

You are currently warming up outside on the football field with the rest of the girls from your class when you see him again. He is sitting on the bleachers, and waving.

Towards you.

You can literally hear the girls' hearts around you pound loudly in their chests.

Yours skips a little too.

You watch the trajectory of his eyes, and then you see it.

He is not waving at you, or anyone around you.

He is waving at a girl about 100 feet away on the field, who is slowly approaching you.

There's no need for all your 167 IQ points to realise she must be the boy's sister. Tall and lean, same angular jaw and raven dark hair with untamed curls framing her face. Even though she is wearing a Red Sox Jersey way too big for her size, when she clenches her fists you can see her muscles are just as well defined as her brother's. Maybe even more.

Next to her is your Physical Education teacher, talking fervently and gesturing excitedly in the air. Her eyes are pinned on her feet, and you can clearly see she is trying to hide her disinterest to what your teacher is saying. After a few moments you see her raise her head and her eyes darting up, probably searching for her brother.

But they don't go all the way up to the bleachers. They stop mid-way.

And land on you.

Her eyes remind you of when you went to Switzerland and tasted the finest chocolate you can remember ever eating in your whole life, or when you were little and you used to go into your mother's dressing room and steal her silk scarf and sleep with your face pressed against it, whenever you had a bad day.

And the way she looks at you makes your hands sweat and your knees weaken. And it's soft and warm and cozy and _home_.

You must have stared dumbly back at her, because she flashes you half a grin.

Oh.

God.

_Dimples_.

You saw the ghost of two beautiful miniature valleys grace her cheeks, before disappearing in an instant as she turned her head to look at your teacher and smile politely back at him.

You make a mental note to take a picture of this girl, send it to Mirriam-Webster Dictionary and kindly ask them to submit it as an example picture for the word exquisite.

Because if she is not the most beautiful human being you have ever laid your eyes upon, you clearly have been looking at the wrong people.

You shake yourself and hope your face is once again one of distant disinterest and cool professionalism.

You do want to get to know this new girl. You definitely don't want to do it with another 15 people around you. You tell yourself all you'll do is shake her hand and smile politely at her, but how can you possibly do just that when only the prospect of touching her makes you burst with happiness?

You don't find out, though. As soon as they close the distance, the teacher gestures she should head to the bleachers to where her brother is sitting.

No introduction.

No hand-shaking.

You have never been more relieved and heart-broken in the same time in your whole life.

…

…

…

You spend the rest of your day thinking about that class. She has sat through the entire class watching you.

Intently.

You could feel your skin burning, but it wasn't like grabbing a hot kettle and dropping it because of the heat, no. It was like keeping your hand above a candle, high enough so it doesn't _really_ hurt, but still low enough to feel the heat enter your skin constantly. Like the Chinese water drop, always in the same place, until it became unbearable.

By the end of the class, you talked yourself out of it and convinced yourself again to talk to her at least half a dozen times.

When the teacher finally dismisses the class, she is already gone.

That's the only time you see her or her brother until you go home. You look after her in the hallways, you turn your head during your lunch break twice as much as you did during the last two years of high school combined.

You don't see her, but you know she's there. You feel it in your bones.

And for the first time in your life, you have a feeling you can't explain through science.

It's unnerving.

You don't want it to stop.

…

You're walking towards the black limo waiting in front of the school to take you home, when you feel like a tug at the base of your skull. It's tickling, like an insect landed there. You raise your arm and massage the spot gently, before turning your head.

There she is.

Leaning against the school wall, headphones in, eyes closed.

As soon as your eyes land on her face, she opens her eyelids and looks at you lazily.

You see her lift her chin a little, as if in an act of defiance. Challenging.

You turn your body completely in her direction, and you see her square her shoulders before crossing her arms on her chest. Waiting.

You take a few steps but your stride falters as a dark skinned boy runs towards her and sticks out his hand, introducing himself. She looks at you for another half a second, before talking to the boy in front of her.

You don't wait for her to finish talking, turning back and getting into the car.

It's your junior year in high school. And nothing has changed.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Okay guys, here's a little bonus. I wanna let you know though, from now on I'll update about once a week.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. God help me if I did.

* * *

As soon as you close the door to your house you know that your Ma knows about her.

You can feel her struggling, trying to give your mind privacy and stop herself from entering without permission. You also know your mother better than anyone else, and you know no matter how hard she tries, she just can't stop herself. Unless you close the connection.

On any other day, you would have done so. You would have fought back for the privacy of your thoughts.

But today?

Today you're just tired.

You don't even know her name.

You didn't even talk to her and you're already trying to keep yourself together.

You don't even know her name and you're already failing.

Failing.

And falling.

You don't know what's worse.

You go into the kitchen and the smell of Cannolis fills your lungs. You let yourself float for a moment and forget everything about today.

Your first day back to school, after one year.

You should have been a senior, but the recovery kept you away from school, or any other human interaction besides your family for that matter.

You forget how the teachers looked at you from under their eyes lashes when they read your paper and your medical files.

You forget about the condescending tone in their voices when they addressed you.

You forget about everything.

Everything, but the golden girl you saw when you were half listening to a dumbass that called himself a Physical Education teacher talking about how he is so honored to have a Softball star on his team. Talking like he didn't despise you like every other teacher that worked in that school.

But that girl. With her grace and elegance and her hazel eyes and the way the wind managed to get her hair all messy and how she made you want to reach out to her.

How she made your mind reach out to her and how she almost made you smile.

Only by standing there, in the middle of a group of crazed teenage girls that so desperately craved your brother's attention, looking at you.

That moment, you felt it again. The familiar tingling at the base of your spine. A warm sensation coursing through your body. It momentarily took over the constant dull ache that has been your best friend for longer than you care to remember.

It was the same sensation you had around Emma.

Only now it was stronger.

With Emma, it took you months to open up, even more to reach out to her. And when you did, the warm sensation resembled drinking hot chocolate. It was warm and sweet and it made you feel a pleasant _something _in your stomach.

With this golden girl, all it took was finding her gaze and holding it for a few seconds. And it was like standing underneath the spray of a hot shower - attacking all your senses all at once. Making you feel like you disappeared in another galaxy where nothing hurts.

Liberating.

Leaving you craving for more.

"How was school, Janie?"

Only after hearing your mother's voice you realise you have been standing in the kitchen's doorframe for the last couple of minutes. You fully enter the room and sit down at one of the bar stools situated at the kitchen island.

"Well, y'know, like any first day of school. Nothin' special…"

"Really, you haven't made any friends?"

Tease.

"I have, actually."

She turns to look at you, eyebrows up in anticipation.

"A boy, his name is Frost. Barry Frost."

Something she hasn't yet found out in your head, simply because you haven't thought about him since the moment he introduced himself outside school.

Oh, how you wanted in that moment to beat him senseless for ruining your chance of speaking with the golden girl. Fortunately for him, he turned out to be a really cool guy to be around.

You could almost like him.

Your mother places in front of you a plate full of cannolis that just got out of the oven. You throw her a grateful look before digging in, letting the conversation you are sure to come wait until later.

…

It's the middle of the night, and you're still on your back porch, watching the stars.

You have been doing a lot of that, lately.

Sitting up all night, thinking what would have happened if Hoyt hadn't ruined your life.

If maybe you could've had a chance at living normally.

At having a normal family.

Wondering if you'd still be alive if not for Emma.

Wondering if you will ever be able to look at the scars in your palms and not see her face.

Frankie walks out silently and sits down next to you, letting your shoulders brush.

He is the only one that is still allowed physical contact with you. He is also the only one that doesn't try to enter your mind without consent. You don't have to fight around him. You don't have to try.

Maybe that's why you love him so much.

Or maybe it is because he is trying to have a normal brother-sister relationship with you.

Or maybe it is because he is the only one that has stood up for you, since Tommy left two years ago.

Or maybe you love him without having an explanation as to why you'd die for him.

You just do.

And that's okay because he is Frankie and he won't make you talk about your feelings unless you want to.

Except one thing.

A question he has asked you every day, for one year.

A question he will ask you for the rest of your life.

"Does it still hurt?"

You've had this conversation so frequently you've already played it in your head at least 20 times.

"You know I don't care if my hands still hurt."

"You know I'm not talking about your hands."

He looks at you. Just like he did yesterday. And the day before that.

You look up, talk to the stars.

"It hurts to know I will never be able to use them again."

Same answer.

Even after one year, your voice is still raw with emotion when you say those words.

You don't know if that will ever change.

He puts his hands on your back gently, making sure not to touch the marks tattooed on your skin.

You love him for that, too.

He leans in and kisses your temple, but doesn't say anything.

Simply because there's nothing left to say.

You lean into his touch and put you head on his shoulder.

You can feel him smile and close his eyes for a moment.

You don't feel yourself falling asleep.

…

_Helplessness._

_Fear._

_No. _

_Terror._

_There's someone hovering over you, but all you can focus on is the fierce pain you feel in the palm of your hands. _

_And between your shoulder blades._

_They have spread out the moment the last remains of self-control you had had left, flying out the window._

_And now they're black._

_They're black and burning and you want to move them but your lungs can't get enough air and you feel yourself fainting again._

_You're on fire. _

_You're on fire because you can feel yourself degrading. _

_Fading away._

_You don't remember exactly what that bastard did to you, except pinning your hands with scalpels and injecting something at your pulse point._

_And watching you._

_Watching you the way a lion watches his prey give its last breath._

_Hungry._

_Hungry and dominant and terrifying and you've never been scared of anything in your life but then you had wet your pants 3 times in 5 minutes._

_And you had fallen asleep because the pain was just too much to handle awake._

_And now someone is hovering over you, cupping your cheek but it's not him because you'd recognize her hands anywhere. _

_And it's soft and smooth and for a moment all you can see is her beautiful face and the way her blue eyes smile at you despite the moment because you're still alive._

_You're still alive and you still have her and her beautiful auburn hair and her playful voice and her heart and you love her._

_You know that because she has just saved your life by tazing that sick son of a bitch and she has seen you weak and frightened and you're not ashamed for not being stronger. _

_And you drown in that love for a moment praying the police will be here soon and that by the time they're here your marks will be back on your body so they won't shoot you too for being a freak._

_And you're stupid because all you can see is her and you forget your surroundings so you don't see the way Hoyt reaches weakly for his gun or the way he points it with a still trembling hand at Emma._

_You don't see it._

_You don't see it but the next fraction of a second you are deaf and you scream because the most beautiful eyes you have ever seen are now lifeless and the mouth you have tasted a million times is now hanging open and she falls next to you and she's gone._

_She's gone and she has taken with her all your hope and strength and now you wish you had a gun so you can shoot your brains out._

…

It's dawn.

Rays on light begin to trace the sky and you're still on your back porch all sweaty and lost and you can't speak because your throat is raw from all the screaming.

You look around you but everything is still hazy and you can't decipher the details.

You turn around and see Frankie sitting in the old wooden rocker you have, with teary eyes and clenched teeth looking at you.

And you know.

You know from the way he holds himself he tried to wake you.

Just like he did every night for a whole year.

And you know that he still couldn't come across and win over your twisted mind and sick memories.

You didn't hear him.

You didn't feel him.

And you don't know who is hurting more because of it.

"How long?"

You mouth the words because your voice still isn't back but you have to know. You have to know for how long you have been screaming loud enough for the whole city to hear you without being able to wake up.

"About twenty minutes."

You don't recognize his voice either.

He stands up and moves over before kneeling right in front of you.

Your eyes are on the same level without you looking down or him lifting his chin up.

He throws his arms around your neck.

He squeezes you until you are out of air and then some.

He squeezes you until you forget.

He squeezes you until his arms hurt and then loosens them but keeps them secured around your neck.

He tilts his head and whispers into your ear before barely touching your temple with his lips.

"I'm here, Janie. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

And you know.

That's why you love him so much.


	3. Chapter 3

You don't see her the in the yard the next day, but you are determined to talk to her today because you know you will never be able to make it through the weekend without at least knowing her name.

You felt yourself going crazy only because you had to wait one afternoon and one night so you can finally meet her today, one whole weekend alone with your thoughts regarding her voice and her personality and wondering if she smiles a lot or if she likes making jokes or wondering if maybe she is a loner just like you are definitely going to send you to a mental hospital.

To your disadvantage you have never been the one to walk around the school all by yourself in order to discover all the secret hiding places that certainly exist. You dread the breaks between classes, because it means you have to stand in the yard all by yourself, with nothing to do. A book would always find its way in your arms, but how could you possibly concentrate on reading when there are boys screaming on the basketball court and on a bench nearby some girls giggling and gossiping about boys and there in the corner of your eye you see a couple stealing kisses and glances at one another because their parents don't allow them to be together?

So all you do is wait for the English class to begin, scanning the hallways for a tall brunette with unruly curls falling down her shoulders.

She doesn't come.

You know she is supposed to because you even went to the school's office to ask if there will be any new girls in Mr. Miller's English class and you managed you get your affirmative answer and run to the girl's bathroom before breaking into hives after saying the teacher asked you to find out.

And now you are sitting in the front row as always, hearing what the teacher explains about the Victorian era but not really listening, because 10 minutes have passed and she still hasn't showed up.

…

It's lunch break, but after the Physical Teacher dismissed the class, you stayed behind and asked him if it was possible to practice your swing some more, considering you will be noted at how you play softball next week.

He looked at you strangely, but put the power back on at the batting cage and gave you your helmet back.

You have never been good at sports, probably because it's something you become better at only by practicing every day. It's something you need a friend for to catch the ball, or run after it or just be there to tell you if what you are doing is okay and correct you when you are wrong. It's not something you can learn from the books.

It requires human interaction, which is the only thing you are worse at after sports.

You barely manage to touch the incoming balls, but you don't blame it on your lack of skill, you blame it on your lack of concentration.

The moment the brunette entered your English class 15 minutes after the class had started, all your focus went out the window. She didn't talk, just left one note on the teacher's desk and after only one glance at the piece of paper, Mr. Miller gestured for her to take a seat.

She did. Right in the back of the class, where no matter how you turned you couldn't see her, but she had you in perfect view.

You boiled and you clenched your teeth and squared your shoulders and you almost _squirmed_, but no matter what you did you were perfectly capable of feeling her eyes bore holes into your skin.

By the end of the class you were so angry you almost broke your pen in two.

You had never been more determined to talk to someone in your life.

You picked up your things with light-speed, but by the time you were ready to turn and confront her, she was already gone.

Again.

The same thing happened at Chemistry, and at Physical Education she hadn't showed up at all.

And now here you are, directing your rage at some baseballs, missing each and every one, because on a good day you are nowhere near capable of hitting the ball.

Your arms start so hurt so much that you can't keep the bat straight anymore when the machine suddenly stops, but you're too tired and worn out to question why.

You let the bat drop at your feet, and put your hands on your knees in a feeble attempt to catch your breath.

You hear footsteps behind you, but you don't turn around until you see two black converse appear right in front of you.

You slowly stand up straight again, and you are met with a cocky grin and big brown eyes.

After staying as far away from you as possible all day, here she is.

Even more gorgeous than from afar.

You are both silent for a moment, taking each other in.

Her, in a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and skinny black jeans, and you, still in your training clothes, all sweaty and panting.

She bends down to take the bat, and after analyzing it for a moment she heads to the equipment room and drops it off. She takes a moment to scratch her chin, before choosing a shorter bat, that also looks lighter than the one the teacher left for you.

She comes back and hands it to you, making sure your fingers don't brush by accident.

"The bat was too heavy for you, that's why you couldn't swing it properly."

You thought her eyes are the best part about her.

Clearly, it was because you hadn't heard her talk.

Her voice is raspy and deep, wrapping around you like smoke.

She has the voice of someone that used to smoke and drink a lot, but without the roughness that comes along.

You want to say something that will make her talk again, but you can't make your facial muscles move.

Fortunately, you don't have to.

"Show me your stance again."

For once in your life, you're happy your stance is horrible, just so she can correct it.

She cringes at your position, but recovers after a moment.

She moves behind your back, leans in closer to whisper in your ear, still not letting your bodies touch.

"Spread your legs a little more until they are aligned with your shoulders."

Your brain short-circuits.

You can feel her hot breath on your skin behind your ear, and her husky voice reverberates in your whole body.

You'd do _anything_ to keep her going.

"Now bend your knees."

You do.

"Stand straight, but relax your arms."

You do that too.

"Good."

She takes a step back and goes back to standing in front of you.

She watches you for a moment, before heading to the control panel to turn on the machine again.

She comes back next to you just as the balls fly in your direction.

You only miss 5 out of 20.

…

"Children absorb 90% of the information necessary for taking a good grade during class. That means you lost 22,5% of the necessary information for taking at least a C at English and another 15% at Chemistry."

You had to say it.

You have been walking around the yard aimlessly side by side, in silence, and maybe you're not that good at making friends but you do know when two people meet, they almost always make conversation so they can get to know each other better.

Almost.

She doesn't look at you but gives a sideways smirk, and when she answers and you hear her voice again you forget what you were talking about.

"Yeah well, sometimes people have better things to do than school."

"Really, because statistics show 87% of the individuals that haven't gone to college for different reasons regret it later in their life."

You bite your tongue, trying to stop it from forming words.

She stops walking and you are sure she will turn back and run away.

This is the point where the other person leaves you without looking back.

You hold your breath, and wait for it.

After a few more moments of looking at each other, she lets her head fall forward.

And she laughs.

A deep, throaty laugh, the kind of laugh that makes you smile no matter the situation.

She looks up at you after a moment but as soon as she makes eye contact she starts chuckling again.

And this is how to ended up in the middle of the yard, standing next to a girl who has been shaking her head and laughing for the past 5 minutes.

You

Made

Someone

Laugh.

Not just someone, but the girl you've been dying to talk to ever since you laid your eyes on her.

She breaks you out of our reverie by coming closer and putting her hands on your shoulders.

"Look, I would really enjoy talking about how a reckless decision in one's teenage years can influence your life forever, but why don't we start talking about something more simple…like…I don't know…names?"

You're stuck.

You're stuck because you screwed up but she didn't run or talk condescendingly to you.

She laughed, but the way she did it made it look like she laughed with you, not at you.

And now here she is, smiling at you and resting her hands on your shoulders and oh God how can someone's skin be so smooth and warm?

Even through the fabric of your t-shirt. Even though now her hands are back in her pockets.

You're already addicted.

"I-…I'm sorry, what?"

You realise you must sound like a person whose attention span is a big fat zero, but heat is still radiating through your body from where her hands touched your shoulders and you can't remember what she said for the life of you.

Her smile only gets bigger, now transformed into a full face grin with dimples and all.

You feel an unstoppable urge to lean in and kiss them.

Fortunately, you're distracted by her amused answer.

"I'm asking you," She makes a pause to smirk a little and raise an eyebrow. "What your name is."

"I'm Maura…Maura Isles."

"Hello there, Maura. I'm Jane. Jane Rizzoli."

She sticks out her hand which you shake, feeling like you've won the lottery.

The bell announcing the break is over fills the air.

You hope you hadn't imagined the squeeze she gave your hand before dropping it.

You've never been sadder the break is over in your entire life.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I just wanted to say a big big thank you to everyone following the story, marking it as a favorite or leaving a review. Every time i see someone left a new comment about demons or sent me a pm...my heart melts a little guys. I read them so many times I know them by heart by now. Keep 'em coming, you have no idea how much it means to me.

Now, a little ranting: OH MY FUCKING GOD JK ROWLING WILL DIRECT A MOVIE **SERIES** IN THE SAME UNIVERSE AS HARRY POTTER HOLY SWEET MOTHER OF RIZZLES I JUST CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS DO YOU EVEN IMAGINE WE WILL HAVE DUMBLEDORE YOUNG AND QUIDDITCH AND HOLY SHIT IF ANY ONE OF YOU ARE POTTERHEADS PLEASE LET ME KNOW SO WE CAN FANGIRL TOGETHER OH MY GOD I CAN'T BREATHE!

Okay, now on to chapter 4.

* * *

You love the little things.

You love that her favourite colour is emerald, not just green.

You love the little wrinkles that make their presence known around her eyes every time she smiles.

You love how carefree she sounds when she laughs.

You love that you're capable of making her laugh.

Because she….

Oh.

Isn't she wonderful?

Isn't she wonderful with her spontaneous outbursts of interesting facts that you are certain not even the best teachers in the country know?

Isn't she wonderful with her taste in fashion, but without drawing attention to herself on purpose? How every time she enters a room, everyone turns their head to look at her at least once. But she doesn't notice it, because her eyes always seem to find you and no one else?

Isn't she wonderful with her grace and royalty and politeness, and downright innocence and humbleness?

Isn't she wonderful when her face is all determination when the ball is flying at her on the softball field? Isn't she wonderful when her bottom lip sticks out if she misses and you just want to run to her and kiss her and keep her in your arms and do anything to make her feel better? Isn't she wonderful when she grins from ear to ear when she hits the ball and makes it to the first inning? Isn't she wonderful when after the game, she comes to you and hugs you tightly before whispering a lovely "thank you" in your ear?

Isn't she wonderful when she takes something too literally, and you finally have the chance to explain something to her, and not the other way around?

Or how she slows her pace when walking down the hallway when she feels your presence behind her until you catch up with her. So you don't really run like crazy after her.

Or how she links your arms together when you are walking in the yard and if she feels the way you shiver she lets you blame it on the cool air.

Isn't she wonderful with her childlike excitement every time Frost greets her in the hallway, because he is your friend and every friend of yours instantly becomes a friend of hers?

Oh…

Yes.

She _is _wonderful.

She is wonderful and you love all those little things about her.

But you also love all the things that make her.

You love her soft hair, and how all you have to do after a shitty day is put your nose there and breathe her in and when you pull away the sky is bluer and the sun shines is brighter and everything is just better.

You love her eyes, and how the looks you give each other are your main form of communication. You love that you can read all that she feels, and all she wants, all that fears, it's all right there. There's no need for you to be able to read her mind, because she opens herself up to you. You love that she opens herself up _only_ to you.

You love her skin, how smooth it is and her toned muscles, and her perfume and how you need to physically restrain yourself from touching her all the time. You love how her skin is the only thing that makes you forget about the unbearable pain you are tied to. How your hands no longer hurt when she massages them. How _you_ no longer hurt when she's there, next to you, making contact some way or another.

You love that she is shorter than you, so when one of you is having a bad day and you hold each other her head tucks perfectly under your chin.

You love that her cheek fits perfectly in the crook of your neck.

You love all those things about her, and all those things that make her, and all those things that distinguish her from other people, all it's all just a never-ending circle of things you love that make you stare dumbly at her, with a foolish grin on your face.

Because you want it all.

You want all that she is.

You don't just want her comfort, and her love, and her support.

You want her insecurity and fears and her 2 a.m. thoughts as well.

You want _her._

You want all that she is in all the ways someone could possibly want somebody else, and that is just why you aren't willing to sacrifice her friendship for anything else.

Not even for the possibility of something more.

Because you have seen the result of what happened with the last person you wanted, in any measure.

They ended up dead in a basement, after saving your pathetic life.

And there's no way you will ever put Maura Isles in danger.

It took you one year to recover after Emma's death, and even though she has been your lover and Maura is and will only be just a friend, you already know.

You already know not even a life time would be enough to recover if Maura died.

…

…

…

You have known Maura Dorothea Isles for approximately a total of 2 months.

All she knows about you is your name, that you're 17 because you had stayed one year at home for recovery after "a tragic accident" and that you're an avid Red Sox fan.

She doesn't know _you_, because you don't let her.

You know it's selfish and cruel, that you keep her an arm-length away from who you truly are, but you can feel it.

Your mind's eye can already envision Maura there by your side, in the middle of the night, listening to all that you are willing to give her. Absorbing all of it, looking at you with those big hazel eyes, awed.

Awed and terrified and after you finish talking you'd look at her and she'd smile at you with those perfect pearly teeth of hers and you'd fall asleep and you wouldn't have nightmares.

And in the morning she'd be gone and you wouldn't blame her because who'd be crazy enough to stay with a monster like you?

And you know, the moment you let yourself be vulnerable and you let her bandage your open wounds.

The moment you are really okay because she is there with you for a moment and you are willing to suffer for a thousand years for that one moment, but then she is gone and you are left alone again and you bleed again but no one is there to change the bandages.

That's the moment you're fucked.

So you spare yourself the pain.

You don't let her near you. Not emotionally.

Because you've done that mistake once and you opened up and she left the moment you were done talking.

But you were in love with her so when she came back two weeks later you greeted her with open arms and eyes full of forgiveness because you were a junkie for her touch and you told yourself you would be able to get over it when she'd leave again later on, but you'd die on the spot if you had to turn her away right in that moment when she stood there in front of your house with sad blue eyes and a nervous smile.

You've done the mistake of letting someone get to you once so the feeling of loneliness would disappear, even if only for a moment. Even if it meant months of suffering afterwards.

And now you are not willing to make the same mistake twice.

Because Maura Isles dead is not the only thing you'd never be able to get over.

But how dare you want to have all of her while she has nothing of you?

How dare you want to be everything she needs while you don't want to need her, ever?

How dare you fall in love with her?

How dare you fall in love with her but you forbid her to fall in love with you?

How dare you say you want to protect her while you hurt her like you do?

How dare you want for her to stay?

You selfish, _selfish_ person

Selfish and cruel and irrevocably in love with a girl you don't deserve but want anyway.

But how could you _not_ want her?

How could you not want her when she chooses you as a partner for the biology project?

How could you not want her when she lets you make the first incision on the pig heart you have to dissect, even though she knows she'd make it a thousand times better than you? How could you not want her when she corrects you when you make the cut a little too much to the right, but instead of taking the scalpel from your hand and doing the job herself, she puts her hand over yours and guides it in the right direction?

How could you not want her when she sees you hyperventilate and she watches your face become pale when you see the scalpel for the first time, but she doesn't pry? She doesn't pry or make you feel uncomfortable. Instead, she puts her hand on your forearm and squeezes gently, a quiet reassurance that it's okay. Saying "it's okay" and "you can go if you want to" and "I won't judge you".

How could you not want her when she understands you so effortlessly, even though she doesn't know it?

You've known from the moment you saw her on that football field.

You had known you would need her more than oxygen and you had known you'd deprive yourself from her, because the only thing more important than you desperately needing her,

The only thing that matters more to you

Is her happiness.

And you know, for a fact, that she'd never get the happiness she deserves, not with you.

…

…

…

You're in her room, watching her hands cut apart and glue back together photos of ancient gods from the Greek Mythology.

It wasn't even the History teacher that asked for the two of you to work together.

It was her.

It was her with her pretty smile, and lovely eyes and carefree voice telling you "of course I want you as a partner, you're my best friend!"

And you know what she meant is "you're my best friend and my only friend and I really hope I'm your best friend too"

And she knows you know that that's what she meant.

She also knows you're holding back from her, but she's not pushing you.

She's figured it out about two weeks ago, and she's been trying to act like it didn't hit her like a brick in the stomach since.

You hate yourself.

You hate yourself for knowing that and still sitting on her bedroom floor, helping her put together a project neither of you is no longer interested in.

You hate yourself for not having the guts to explain it to her, that it's not her, it's you. You're the one that's messed up. She didn't do anything wrong, on the contrary – she does all the right things.

She does all the right things and that's exactly why you can't let go completely.

So you're hanging somewhere between "I want you but I know I can't have you" and "However I won't let you go because I can't live without you."

I feel a small hand squeeze your knee and you look up into concerned green eyes.

You noticed her eyes do that – whenever she is concerned or sad or afraid her eyes become green just like the grass in the middle of spring, and when she is bursting with happiness her eyes turn golden, alive.

She strokes your knee once again and you see the change happen within her.

You know.

Her eyes tell you that you won't leave her house tonight without an explanation, not without repercussions. Not like before.

Two months of knowing Maura Isles, two months of Maura Isles trying to know you, two weeks of Maura Isles knowing _why_ she doesn't succeed.

Two seconds of watching an unyielding determination form behind her eyelids.

You close your eyes and when you open them, you realise this is one of the moments people think back in their lives and wonder what would have happened if they had done something differently.

You hope with all your heart that you won't regret later what you will say tonight.

…

…

…


	5. Chapter 5

You're listening to the sound of your heart breaking.

She has left your house 15 minutes ago, but you are too drained to leave your front porch and head back inside to an empty house.

Not after what had just happened.

…

_The way she is looking at you from across your project makes up your mind. It's all right there, in her big brown eyes. It's in the way she holds herself. It's in the way her hands itch because they want to reach for yours, but she denies herself the pleasure._

_She denies both of you the pleasure._

_You know she is holding back, but you have a feeling not many have got even this far as you have._

_But you are also the kind of person that deals with the facts._

_The facts are she knows more about you than the whole school altogether. Maybe even more than your parents._

_And all you know about her is her name, that she has a brother, that she has stayed one year at home and that she'd protect the Red Sox with her life._

_Not even the tip of the iceberg._

_She knows that you have figured it out. You know she knows._

_Of course, the temptation to ask has been there from the moment you realized, it kept you awake every night for the past couple of weeks. It kept your mind occupied every moment of the day. But the only thing you want more than to know her is to make her feel safe and comfortable in your company._

_You know it's not fair to either of you, but you'd rather have a friend you knew nothing about than have no one at all._

_Because having no one at all, is just too much._

_Her eyes are trained on the project lying between you, but her mind is somewhere else._

_You lean over and squeeze her knee. _

_It's the way she involuntarily relaxes under your touch that propels you forward._

_You don't have to speak though, she understands._

_You see realization dawn on her, you see her question if telling you is the right thing._

_You have never been more sure of something in your whole life._

…

You look up and the moon hides away from you with the help of clouds.

She hid away with the help of silence.

…

_She is about to open her mouth and start taking, when you see hesitation creep up on her._

_Fear of your reaction._

_You take her hand between your own trying to urge her to speak._

_Her eyes are pinned on your body, but her expression is telling you she is seeing somebody else sitting in front of her. _

"_Jane," You try to make her come back to you. "Please." _

_She snaps out of her dream, and opens her mouth but no words come out._

"_Let me in."_

_You move closer and cup her cheek with your free hand._

"_Let me see you."_

_Her eyes flutter close and she leans into your touch. _

_Oh._

_God._

_Had these been happier circumstances you would have fainted right then. _

_She opens her eyes and you try again to bring her out of her fortress. _

"_Let me be here for you." _

_She says your name softly, like a prayer._

"_Jane,"_

_Just a little bit harder._

"_Jane… let me in."_

_Her eyes become blurred at once and she stands up abruptly, already gone from the room by the time you're standing on your own feet. You run after her and catch her elbow just as she is trying to get out the front door. You spin her so she is facing you, but when you are finally face to face all words are gone from your mind and you are just standing there looking at her. _

_Watching as all the vulnerability and pain disappears from her place, replaced by an emotionless expression. _

_You want to scream and cry and hit and shove your way up right into her soul, you want to make her understand you would do __anything__, if only she would give you permission. _

_But you cannot do any of that, because two scarred hands whose story you still don't know are pushing you back, with enough force that you let loose of her arm, but not powerfully enough to hurt you._

_And it's that balance that breaks you, that sign of affection that knocks you off of your feet. _

_She doesn't leave right away. She stands there in your doorway looking at you, before finally talking._

"_I'm sorry, Maura, I am. But this couldn't work out, you'll see. You will thank me later when you will realise all I'm doing is spare both of us some unnecessary pain."_

_Her voice is flat. As if all the emotion has been erased in another conversation on the same subject. _

_She leaves without looking back. _

…

You sit down on the rocker you have on the porch. Your dad used to keep you in his arms and sing you to sleep when you were little in this rocker. He took the rocker with him whenever you moved.

Now, he left it here. "To remind you of me" he told you as he kissed your cheek good-bye before leaving for his business trip to Europe.

You fall asleep not longer after you close your eyes.

In your dream, she wouldn't have left.

Neither would have your parents.

In your dream,

You are whole_._

…

…

…

She doesn't come to school for the following week. It's not even the fact that you don't see her anywhere, it's more about the fact that you don't feel her there close to you, not like you used to in the past. Sometimes she would look at you from afar, someplace where you couldn't see her, but you still felt her close to you. And that was what made it okay.

You would even ask her brother about her if you could find him, but he disappeared as well.

If something good comes from this, though, is that you begin to truly appreciate Frost.

You've had most of the classes together since Freshman year, but you never really noticed him, not until he and Jane became friends.

Now that Jane is gone, he didn't simply go back to his group of friends.

Not like you expected him to.

He still sits with you at lunch. He stills walks with you in the hallways.

He still helps you out when you have to play football at physical education.

He still talks and talks with you or to you knowing he shouldn't really expect an answer.

That doesn't keep him from trying.

You love him for it.

…

You weren't sorry for how you handled the situations in the first two days back at school.

But, by the time Wednesday rolls around, you would do anything to have Jane back. You would promise to never ask her anything ever again, but just to have her back with you.

You start playing back over and over again in your head what you said to her that could have triggered her like that. You wonder when you misstepped.

It's Thursday and all you can do is not start crying in the middle of the class. You avoid human interaction at any cost. Fortunately, that's not very hard to accomplish. Luckily for you, Frost is not at school today, so all you have to do is go back to your old habits, simply staying in the shadows.

You're sitting at the bleachers, watching as the seniors are warming up. You don't really see them though, your mind is wandering back to the first time you saw Jane, right there, in the middle of the field.

You hear steps approach you, and somehow they are similar to her steps, but they are not hers, you'd recognize her walking everywhere. Her swagger is recognizable even from the moon.

These steps are surer…and lighter. You turn your head and you see Frankie sit down right next to you. He doesn't talk though, simply looks ahead as the ball flies from one player to the other.

You haven't really got the chance to talk to him before. Of course, Jane introduced you, but since then you never really spent time with him.

From the way he looks at you, he knows everything you told Jane about yourself.

From the way he looks at you, he feels sorry for you.

From the way he looks at you, he has seen this before.

"Is she okay?"

That's all you need to know.

He looks surprised, baffled actually.

You turn your head so your gazes lock. You go on.

"I never meant to cause her pain. Please, I won't bother her anymore, but I need to know if she is okay."

And you won't. If staying as far away from her as possible is what's best for her, that's exactly what you are going to do, even if it would tear you to pieces.

When he speaks, he lacks Jane's huskiness, but their voices are more alike than you have expected.

"She is not mad at you. You haven't done anything wrong."

You don't know why his words mean so much to you, but you hang onto them for dear life.

"It's just…she has been through this before. There have been people trying to know her, and she managed to turn them all away without much fuss. Except for you…and for Emma."

Your eyebrows rise in surprise at the name. It's not one you've heard before, but then again, there are a lot of things you don't know about Jane. A lot of things she kept away.

He looks at you for a moment longer, before turning his head back to the game. When he talks, you can see he is physically trying to restrain himself from spitting the words out.

"Jane…well, I won't tell you the whole story, that's something only Jane can give it to you if she thinks you deserve to know. Until then, I'll just put it in general terms."

He takes a deep breath before moving on.

"When Jane was 15 we had some…family problems. She was always picky when making friends, real friends I mean, not just play buddies. In that time, she stopped letting anyone in altogether. No one managed to get through to her…no one until she met Emma."

His voice gets softer ever so slightly.

"Emma managed to break all her barriers, simply because she didn't give up. At the time, I thought she didn't give up because she genuinely cared about Jane, now…I'm not so sure. Well, the point is, after months and months of trying, Jane finally gave in. She gave up and she let Emma in. That girl suddenly knew all her thoughts, fears, dreams, everything that makes Jane who she is."

His eyes are now a mix of anger and sadness and guilt and something else you can't really name.

"What happened?" You ask before you can stop yourself.

He doesn't look at you, and when he talks, you'd think his voice is capable of tearing that girl apart.

"She left."

There it is.

That explains Jane's reluctance at letting anyone know her.

You're still not sure if it also excuses it.

"They met in the park, in their favorite spot."

He turns to examine your face as he says his next sentence.

"They were already dating at the time, so they already had a bunch of hidden places where they used to meet. Places where they could talk without being disturbed."

You're not really surprised by this.

You have already figured that Jane is interested in you not only platonically.

What you haven't really known is if she was okay with that.

Your line of thought is interrupted as Frankie continues his story.

"After Jane told her everything, Emma left. Just like that. She told her she "can't do this". Jane wasn't even able to come home. After a couple of hours I began to worry, so I went looking for her. She was simply lying there, on the grass, looking up at the sky. You know what she told me?"

You shake your head.

"I'm never falling in love again."

You don't know if you should laugh or cry, so you end up putting your head on Frankie's shoulder and sighing deeply.

When he speaks again there's a small smile in his voice.

"So you didn't do anything wrong…she's just trying to stick up to that promise. But you know what, Maura?"

You shake your head without raising it from Frankie's shoulder.

"I think she has already failed."


	6. Chapter 6

You wake up to the sound of waves crushing and for a moment you are disoriented. You try to stand up but even after almost a week, you're still recovering from your getaway and you stumble.

You see the sun shining brightly already up in the sky, blinding you.

You stare back at it defiantly, until you see black spots all over.

A feeling of satisfaction sweeps through you. After all, what is a little damage to your retina after everything that you went through to leave Boston?

A couple of minutes pass by and your eyesight gradually comes back to normal. You walk to the end of the cliff and watch over the ocean. Only a few steps and you're already lightheaded.

You know you pushed yourself too hard, unnecessarily. You know she wouldn't have followed you, you made sure of that.

You sit down and let your feet tangle over the hard edge of the cliff. It gives you a sense of serenity. That somehow, with a little struggle, you can float.

Fly, maybe.

You feel guilty about not being sorry for almost killing yourself by travelling as this way in one night.

Because of a stupid flashback.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.

You stupid, little fool.

Still, deep down, you know if you could rewind the time and you had another choice of speaking with her, you would have left all over again.

Stupid.

…

_She moves closer and cups your cheek with her free hand._

"_Let me see you."_

_You want to keep your eyes open and look at her, but you can't. Her touch is too heavenly to do anything else than lean into it and savor it._

_She managed to bring you back from your past before you relieved it once again._

_That's a first. _

_You want to tell her everything she does to you. How she changed you. How she made you feel something other than pain for the first time in one year. You want to let her know you love her. That you're in love with her._

_But you know you can't say any of those things, so instead, you say her name. Taste it on your lips. You find it flawless. _

"_Jane,"_

_You don't answer, you don't know how. You want to tell her everything, but you can't find the right words._

_How do you tell her that you want to be weak?_

_You want to be weak and you want to let her make you feel strong again._

"_Jane… let me in."_

_You want __her__, but suddenly you're not in her room and she's not holding your hand and it's not her smooth skin you feel on your cheek._

_You back in the park, under the stars and Emma is sitting cross-legged across from you, smiling._

_You bite your lips because you've never told anyone before._

_She sways your arm and her blue eyes shine playfully back at you._

_Brighter than the stars above._

"_Oh, c'mon Jane, it can't be that bad to drive me away."_

_That's exactly what you fear, you know it __is__ that bad._

_You eyes are still looking down and you're still biting your lip._

_Her fingers come beneath your chin and raise your head. You're still not able to meet her eyes._

"_Jane… let me in."_

_You look at her. _

_You mistook her blind confidence for wild determination. _

_You tell her everything._

_You watch the color drain from her face as you spill out the words. You want to stop and take it back, but it's too late. You can't stop now, for the life of you._

_You don't know what was the last drop: you ending your story or after you finished, showing her that you haven't lied._

_No matter what made it too much, she left._

_A horrified expression on her face, she left you without saying a word._

_And you were all alone again. If not for Frankie to come and pick you up, you would have rotten there._

_The truth is, you have rotten ever since._

_And now how can you tell this golden girl the exact same story you had told Emma, when you know how she reacted?_

_How can you take such a chance?_

_So instead of grasping the possibility of succeeding, you leave. _

_She catches you at the front door and spins you around._

_Her eyes are like quicksilver. Shining and ripping through you. There's no need for words, her eyes tell you everything you need to know, but you have to leave. You have to spare her the pain. If you're honest with yourself, you want to spare yourself the pain._

_You try to hide all the emotion under a mask. Unfortunately you've used it so many times it now has cracks that can't be unseen. _

_You wonder if she saw them, too…but she lets you go when you push her away._

_You don't stay to find out and see if it was because of the shock or something else._

…

"JANE! WHAT THE HELL?"

Took him long enough.

"Hi, Frankie, nice to see you, too."

You make sure the sarcasm gets through. From the look on his face it does.

"The hell is wrong with you, Jane? How could you do this to her?"

He is not screaming anymore, but from the intensity of his voice he might as well be shouting from across a field.

"Wow, really, Frankie? Did you come all this way to lecture me?"

"No, you useless paperclip, I came all this way to make you get your head out of your ass!"

Although his voice is sharper than the scalpels that dug through your palms, he still walks to you and helps you up.

When he talks again his voice is slightly softer, but the edge is still there.

"Are you okay?"

"Ugh, do I look okay? I can't walk for 5 minutes without feeling out of breath!"

"Well, you deserve it. You shouldn't have left."

"Yeah, there are a lot of things I shouldn't have done…"

You mutter it under your breath but he hears you anyway.

"Yeah, like bailing out on that poor girl. Does she even know anything about you? I mean, not only that, but anything at all?"

Your silence is all the answer he needs to go on.

"Jane, you _have_ to tell her."

Beat. Pause.

"Do you remember first thing Emma said when I first went to see her after she bailed on you in the park?"

Of course you remember, how could you forget?

After Frankie got you home safely, he went the next day to Emma's house and asked to speak with her. She wasn't home but her parents told Frankie he is welcome to wait for her. As soon as Emma saw him, she paled noticeably. When he asked if they could talk somewhere in private, all she said was "I have nothing to say to you. Stay away from me!"

He only told you the story once, when he arrived home, but it was enough.

Frankie's small voice wakes you from your musings.

"Do you…do you know what Maura first asked when I saw her yesterday?"

His voice is small and hoarse and you're too afraid to shake your head but it doesn't matter because he will tell you anyway.

"She asked me if you're okay."

You look at him and for the first time you see him asking himself if you're indeed the person he thought you were.

You're starting to wonder the same thing.

"And then, you know what she told me? Huh, Jane, do you have _any_ idea how special that girl is? She told me _she is sorry to have caused you pain_!"

The way he accentuates Maura's words makes you feel dizzy, because you know. You know how special she is. You suddenly feel the urge to jump right into the ocean and hope to never come back to the surface.

"Oh, and she said she will leave you alone if that's what you want. But _what_ exactly is it that you want, Jane? Because she definitely can't figure it out and to hell with me if I can blame her!"

You can see his anger dissipating in the silence in between.

"Come home, Jane. Please. Come home and come to the Halloween party next Wednesday."

You know what he really means is 'don't blow this up.'

"I already lost her."

You wonder how come you're not already drowning in your tears. You turn away so he won't wonder either.

"Yeah, you did."

His hand finds its usual place between your shoulder blades.

"But you have one more chance to get her back."


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: I don't normally ask for reviews, but this chapter is probably my favorite so far and I'd really like to know what you think about it.

Also, song not mine.

Happy reading guys!

* * *

You have no idea how you ended up here.

…

…

…

Halloween.

For you it's the time of the year where you realise exactly how lonely you are.

Even when you were little, you used to sit at your desk and read about the human body to the sound to gleeful children running outside, trick or treating and then comparing their candies.

You never participated.

You never knew you were allowed to participate.

And later, when you found out no one had actually forbidden you to dress up for Halloween, you were already too old to still believe in ghosts or stories with fairy tales and magic.

You have always found Halloween to be too childish, perhaps because that is what your mother has always told you.

Of course, she never said you _weren't allowed_ to go outside and trick or treat, but how could you do that after you had heard her express her profound dislike to that kind of behavior?

You, always keen on pleasing your parents.

You, always trying to be the best version of yourself.

You, trick or treating?

Not a chance.

After a while, you convinced yourself you hadn't really missed out on anything serious.

After a while, you started believing your little pep talks.

Now, you can't imagine ever actively participating at a Halloween party.

Yet, here you are, on a Friday night still at the school gym, not really dressed for the occasion, but staying for the annual Halloween party, surrounded by ghosts and vampires and zombies and werewolves and other creatures you can't name because in spite or your extended knowledge you have serious blank spots when it comes to pop culture.

You wonder how Frankie convinced you to come. You stand on your tip toes and crane your neck to look after him. As if on cue, he stands up right next to the stage and smirks in your direction. You wave and manage half a smile.

He gives you a thumbs up before sitting back down.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you heart leaps hoping it's Jane.

But you know her touch and the hand on your shoulder is too big and rough and lacks Jane's gentleness to be hers.

You have felt her close to you in the past few days, like she is staying close enough to make you reach out your hand for her, but still too far in order to grab her properly.

Teasing.

Making you scan the crowd and turn your head and then feel bad because obviously she's not there.

Obviously, she left.

You turn and you are met with the sight of Barry Frost, in a black suit and a Sherlock kind of feeling lingering in his proximity.

When he talks, his voice is deeper than usual, but still rather playful.

"Ma'am, you're under arrest, for breaking the law by not wearing a costume on Halloween. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

You smile and assume he is disguised as a detective.

"My, detective Frost, I guess you caught me!"

You can't help but laugh at the goofy expression on his face when you call him detective.

"How come you're not dressed in anything?"

You love him for not leaving.

"Oh well, it was a rather last minute decision to come to the party. I suppose you will have to thank Frankie for having me show up this year."

If he is surprised by hearing Frankie invited you he is not showing it.

But how could you refuse him really, when he told you he has a surprise for you?

You, someone who hates surprises.

You, someone who loves surprises but no one ever offers to give you one, so you decided to hate them because it's much easier to pretend that way.

So, here you are, still at the gym on Friday night. Because honestly, you wouldn't miss your surprise even if your life depended on it.

You don't notice the lights fading in the big room as you small talk with Frost, but before you know it people are shushing around you because now it's completely dark, the only light coming from the improvised stage situated at the far end of the gym.

Frankie goes up and heads for the microphone. The school band gets ready behind him, and even though he still hasn't said one word, you can see all the girls fainting with anticipation.

But he doesn't sing.

What he does instead is-

"I know y'all wanted to hear me sing tonight, but there's been a little change of plans. We'll start the night with a special guest."

No.

I can't be.

No.

"Please welcome my sister, Jane Rizzoli!"

The spotlight is moved on to Jane, who is standing dumbstruck to the side of the stage. From the look on her face this has been a surprise for her as well, not only for the public.

Frankie on the other hand seems to know what he's doing, so he starts a round of applause, skeptically continued by the other students.

Jane walks up to Frankie, practically fuming, but you know anyone who doesn't know her as well as you do would just think she is nervous.

He whispers something in her ear, and when he pulls back you can see determination settle onto her face.

She says something to the band and reaches for the microphone.

Her eyes find yours.

You don't know when you stopped breathing.

She inhales deeply enough to absorb all the oxygen in the room.

You both exhale in the same time.

_When the days are cold  
And the cards all fold  
And the saints we see  
Are all made of gold  
_

Her deep voice gives the song an unexpected secrecy.

Like her voice doesn't reverberate in the big room, loud enough to be heard from the outside.

Like she is whispering the lyrics in your ear.

_When your dreams all fail  
And the ones we hail  
Are the worst of all  
And the blood's run stale  
_

She looks at the ground for a fraction of a second, and when her eyes find yours again, they are pleading.

_I want to hide the truth  
I want to shelter you  
But with the beast inside  
There's nowhere we can hide  
No matter what we breed  
We still are made of greed  
_

Her hand reaches out.

Your fingers twitch.

_This is my kingdom come  
This is my kingdom come  
_

She takes the mic from the holder and steps back, swaying lightly from one foot to the other.

_When you feel my heat  
Look into my eyes  
It's where my demons hide  
It's where my demons hide_

You can't find her gaze quickly enough.

_Don't get too close  
It's dark inside  
It's where my demons hide  
It's where my demons hide_

She grounds you.

You love her.

She puts the mic back in the holder, and lets her arms fall loosely to her sides.

_When the curtain's call  
Is the last of all  
When the lights fade out  
All the sinners crawl_

You hate her for pulling away.

She puts her hands around the microphone, and you see her trying to make the piece of plastic absorb her weight.

_So they dug your grave  
And the masquerade  
Will come calling out  
At the mess you've made_

Her voice trembles and her eyes are a little watery but you know you're the only one who notices.

_Don't want to let you down  
But I am hell bound  
Though this is all for you  
Don't want to hide the truth_

You hate yourself for hating her for leaving.

She closes her eyes and moves her mouth imperceptibly closer to the mic.

_No matter what we breed  
We still are made of greed  
_

She opens her eyes are they are alive with fire.

_This is my kingdom come  
This is my kingdom come_

A shuddering breath escapes you without your consent.

She takes back the microphone, and steps forward, to the edge of the stage.

_When you feel my heat  
Look into my eyes  
It's where my demons hide  
It's where my demons hide_

She bends down and wraps one arm around her stomach.

_Don't get too close  
It's dark inside  
It's where my demons hide  
It's where my demons hide_

She stands straight again and you can feel desperation penetrate her husky voice.

_They say it's what you make  
I say it's up to fate  
It's woven in my soul  
I need to let you go_

Her eyes say "I'm sorry." Her body says "Don't leave me." Her mouth keeps the song going.

_Your eyes, they shine so bright  
I want to save that light  
I can't escape this now  
Unless you show me how_

The back of your eyes are burning.

_When you feel my heat  
Look into my eyes  
It's where my demons hide  
It's where my demons hide  
Don't get too close  
It's dark inside  
It's where my demons hide_

_It's where my demons hide…  
_

Her voice rings out in the silent room. She steps back again and puts the mic in his holder, her eyes never leaving yours.

She doesn't wait to be applauded.

She looks at you a moment longer, before hastily climbing down the few steps situated at the side of the stage. You can see her leaving the gym.

You feel your feet moving in her direction, and before you know it, you're out in the open.

She has already run in the center of the field, and you see her plopping herself down on the grass, facing the sky.

You walk silently up to her, though you're sure she can hear the loud pounding coming from your chest.

You sit down cross-legged next to her, and look up at the stars, before letting your eyes fall on her face.

She is looking at you.

She is looking at you and you're dying and banging at the gates of heaven asking them to let her back inside, because her beauty does not belong to a human being.

Her eyes are dark and slippery though she would never admit to crying, and her hair is alive from the light above, curls spread out on the grass. She gets up and mirrors your position, turning so she is facing you, and the height difference makes her tower over you slightly.

She is magnificent.

Your breath hitches.

You cup her cheek and smile sadly.

"You shouldn't have left."

You both know you're not talking about tonight.

Her answer is not the one you expected.

"I know."

Her eyes fall down to look at her hands resting in the small space between your bodies.

Your hand falls from her face and finds its way into hers.

She looks up at you, and you have never seen so much sincerity welled out into someone's eyes before.

"I'm sorry."

You want to say it's okay but the lump in your throat doesn't let you.

Because it's not okay.

It's not okay because you still don't know anything about her, and in spite of that you're already forgiving her.

So you say the only thing you can.

"I don't care it's dark inside."

The corners of her lips rise slightly.

When she talks, the feelings hid behind voice are killing you. Her words are your antidote.

"I want to show you, but…I-…you have to help me,"

Her hand squeezes yours.

"You have to help me show you."

"Okay."

You stand up and she follows you.

You say it again because you want to believe it.

"Okay."

As soon as you start walking her fingers hover over yours and she looks at you questioningly, biting her lip.

You can help but smile as you intertwine your fingers completely.

"Let's go home, and you can show me there, alright?"

She nods, but you can see her hesitate.

You stop and she turns to look at you, but her eyes don't find your face.

Your free hand finds its way underneath her chin, and your gazes lock.

"It's okay, Jane. If you can't do it now, I'll wait. I'll wait until you're ready to show me, alright?"

She nods, and you gently squeeze her hand, before tugging at it.

"Come on."

She falls into step besides you, and even though you can feel her wanting to say something, she stays quiet for the rest of the way.

…

…

…


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: Okay guys this is a big one, and it's in your best interest to read all of it.**

**First of all, someone told me this story sounds a lot like The Moment by colormetheworld, and to be completely honest with you, that has been my biggest fear since I first started posting. The things is, nothing I will ever read again will come remotely close to The Moment, nothing will touch me quite as much, no other work, published or not will ever be able to fix something within me the way that story did. I've read it at least a dozen times. I know it by heart. It influenced me a great deal, so, naturally, my writing got influenced by it too. However, I am in no way trying to copy The Moment or diminish colormetheworld's talent, not that I am good enough to do so. I messaged her too and explained it to her, but I just wanted to let everyone know, I have no intention whatsoever to steal her work. I will try to distance myself from it. I cannot guarantee I will succeed in doing so. Not with this story, at least.**

**Secondly, as you might have noticed the break between chapter increased significantly. School's getting harder, and I don't have so much time to write between homework and school and everything else going on right now. For that, I'm deeply sorry. I hope you guys won't hate me too much :(**

**In the third place, I just wanted to let you know the song from last chapter is Demons by Imagine Dragons. You should check them out, they're awesome. Another song by them that goes well with this story is Monster.**

**Lastly a big shoutout to IsaBabisa for deciding to help me out with the story. **

**Oh, and I know this is kinda short, but I didn't really know how or when to end it. I promise I will make it up to you in chapter 9.**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

You're in her room, and it's like the night you ran away from her all over again.

Except this time you are keen on staying.

When you arrived at her house she told you once again that you don't have to show her anything tonight.

Her eyes told you tonight it would be enough for her to fall asleep next to you.

That's exactly why you want it to happen now.

Because she won't leave you alone, even though you may keep her in the dark for another few days.

Because she trusts you.

You trust her to trust you.

You sit down on the double-sized bed, right in the middle of it. You pat the space in front of you, and she obliges, a little hesitant.

Your hands go to unbutton your shirt, and you watch her try to maintain eye-contact.

You smirk when she smiles triumphantly, her eyes never leaving your face.

Your hands freeze on their way to fully take the shirt off.

You're stuck.

You're stuck again in the same never ending fear and if you were her, you would take off right away and never come back, because you are such a catastrophe, no one should be forced to witness it.

Her fingers graze your jaw line on their way up to your cheeks.

She is calling you back.

"Hey, sweet girl,"

You love her.

You look at her to tell her that, but you are too caught up in her to still be able to speak.

"Sweet girl…come back to me,"

Her voice feeds you, and you find your hands moving again.

Before you know it your shirt is discarded on the floor and you're wearing only your tank top.

"Can…can you do it?"

She doesn't answer, but her hands are now lifting the hem of your tank.

Your muscles clench and relax under her magic touch on their own volition.

You stifle a moan.

You lift your arm so she can fully take off the piece of clothing, and in doing so your faces are only a couple of inches apart.

You restrain yourself from leaning in to kiss her.

You are now wearing only your bra, and she can't stop her eyes from wandering over the newly exposed skin.

She looks back at you, asking, and you nod.

Of course you nod, you can't deny yourself the pleasure.

As soon as her fingers touch your abdomen, you don't know how you survived all this time without them.

Her fingers are tracing ever line, memorizing ever little detail.

You close your eyes and relish in the feeling.

When she touches you, the dull ache you have in your body is gone.

Are fingers are replaced with her soft lips, and you're dying.

You're dying because she is peppering your skin with tiny kisses and oh god, if heaven exists this must be it.

You can feel your self-control fading away, and you can feel them screaming from inside of you to let them out.

You don't want to.

You don't want to let them out and let her see exactly what kind of monster you are, because then she'd be gone with her magic touch leaving you broken beyond any point of recovery.

She leans back anyway.

After a moment she leans in again, but not to touch your ribcage.

It's to touch your lips.

She leans in and captures your lips between hers and you wonder how come you haven't had a heart attack.

It's not a kiss though.

It's a promise.

It's a reassurance.

It's merely pressing your lips together, telling you she is there.

Asking you to trust her.

Asking you to let go.

You do.

You let them spread wide apart, one black wing to each side of you.

You look away, knowing that if you watch her become terrified, well…

You'd rather die.

But it doesn't happen.

She is not terrified and you don't know what exhilarates you more,

Finally showing her what you really are

Or hearing her voice shaking, when telling you

"You're beautiful."

She is not terrified. She is not even scared.

She is awed. Mesmerized.

"Can…can you turn around?"

You do. How could you refuse her?

You'd do anything for her.

Everything.

You turn around, and you feel her hand finding its place between your shoulder blades, her fingers grazing the beginnings of your black wings.

You shudder.

Her other hand joins in, and she begins to massage sour tensed muscles.

Your head falls forward.

If God would strike you right then, you'd die a happy person.

She scoots closer, until your back is almost pressed against her front.

You feel soft lips on your bare shoulder.

"You're so, so beautiful."

You want to tell her she is too, the most beautiful and amazing and wonderful person on this planet, but you can't because you're crying and you don't want her to know that you're crying like a little baby over nothing.

But it is something.

It is everything for you.

It is Christmas and first snow of winter and first day of the summer holiday and Red Sox winning the national championship and her agreeing to be your Valentine all packed together in one simple sentence.

You should have known you can't keep anything away from her.

Her arms are locked around your waist and her head is resting on your back, and she is rocking both of your bodies back and forth until there are no more tears left within you.

She tugs at your shoulder, pulling you after her until you are both lying on the bed, her spooning you from behind.

Your wings retreat inside your ribcage, back into being simple marks on your skin. But this time, it's not because you're afraid someone will see them and hurt you, or because you are ashamed of yourself and you want to forget what you are. It's not a necessity.

It's for comfort.

You do it so you can fully press yourself into her, melt into her body.

She squeezes you gently, and you let your fingers intertwine with hers, atop your abdomen.

You hear her sigh contentedly.

You fall asleep, a shy smile on your face.


	9. Chapter 9

Her breath evens out and you force your eyes to close but your mind simply won't shut down.

Not that you blame it.

Scientifically speaking, it's not possible. _She _is not possible.

Angels don't exist, and even if they do, they sure as hell don't live on earth.

But seeing is believing, and you saw her open up in front of you, both metaphorically and literally, and you felt her feathers tremble underneath your finger tips, and you knew.

You knew that if science said she is impossible, if science said she is an abnormality and a monster. You knew that if science disagreed with her being, science is something you will longer believe in.

Not when you had her next to you, a child-like fear on her face, her eyes begging you to understand. Begging you to stay.

Not when she didn't only let her guard down, she simply destroyed it.

For you.

She showed you something you are sure very few people have seen before.

She showed you herself. All there is to it, the whole picture, not just carefully chosen pieces.

You want to scream from the rooftops, because she gave you permission to love her.

She gave herself permission to trust you and rely on you, and now you are terrified.

You are terrified when you think about all the lengths you'd go only to protect this girl. To keep her safe and loved and protected, though you're not sure if it is for her sake or yours.

Because you're in love with her, which is so much sweeter now that you _are_ allowed to be in love with her.

Now that she lets you be in love with her.

You feel a sudden urge to wake her up and let her know all this, how grateful you are. How it only makes you love her more.

But she is snoring gently, a deep rumble reverberating through her body, and by extension through yours.

Because you never thought you can hold someone so tightly and closely without them losing the ability to breathe.

You prop yourself on one elbow and hover slightly over her, watching as the shadows dance on her angular face, smoothing over her skin, softening her sharp edges.

You marvel at her god-like features, making you lose all self-control, even in her sleep.

The temptation is too powerful to resist, so you lean in and plant a feather light kiss on her jaw, lightly down her neck.

After pulling back you settle yourself back down, pressed tightly into her back. You nuzzle your nose into her neck, and wonder if anything can come even remotely as close to perfection as this moment does.

You close your eyes and don't feel yourself falling asleep.

You still can't decide what you liked more, reality, or the fantasies that came to life inside your head.

…

You bolt upwards and dizziness washes over you. It's still dark outside, and you take a couple of moments to regain your balance.

Then you hear it.

A whimper that cuts right through to your very soul. You look down Jane lying next to you, her hands curled into fists and her face scorched up in pain.

You wonder for a moment what you should do, but the second whimper that escapes her lips makes up your mind.

You put your hand on her forearm and squeeze her softly, whispering-

"Jay…Jane wake up,"

She continues to writhe on the bed, but somehow she turns so she is now facing you. You lie back down and move closer.

Your hand finds her cheek and settles on the smooth skin.

"Shhh, sweet girl… It's okay,"

Her whimpers die away and she stays still, but the frown doesn't leave her brow.

Your heart flutters at how she responds to you. Even unconsciously.

Your thumb brushes her over zygomatic bone.

You keep going.

"You're safe. You're safe with me, sweet girl,"

She relaxes completely and you withdraw your hand slowly even if it kills you to do so.

But as soon as the contact is over.

Just as you lay your hand down between the two of you.

She growls.

A deep throaty growl and she moves closer until her face is buried in your neck.

You feel her sigh.

You don't know why you feel like crying.

Crying and flying and dying.

But mostly crying your heart out.

Your hand finds its way over her waist and you tug her closer, even if her body presses into yours on its own accord.

You are elated in a terrifying kind of way.

…

…

You wake up to big brown eyes surveying you.

You haven't moved since you fell asleep during the night after her nightmare, and now you can't feel your arm.

But she is still lying on her side facing you and looking at you like she wants to memorize every detail that makes you and no one has ever looked at you like that before. You don't think anyone else ever will.

And she is still here.

You wouldn't move for the world.

"Hi." Her voice is raspier than usual from sleep. It reminds you of the way the fire cracks in a fireplace during a cold winter night.

"Hi."

You want to say more but you don't know where to start.

"You helped me with the nightmare."

Slowly. Like she got so used to having nightmares they are now part of her.

It breaks your heart.

"I did. I-I thought that-"

"It never worked before…" Like she hasn't even heard you.

Her eyes meet yours. You wait for her to go on.

"Frankie always tried to wake me up, or just…chase the nightmare away. It…it never worked before…"

Her breath hitches a little towards the end.

"I always woke up screaming or…I-…it just never worked before,"

You want to take her in your arms and never let go. You want to tell her you will always be there to chase her nightmares away, if she lets you.

"You stayed."

You're not sure if you mean last night or this morning. But it doesn't matter.

"I did."

"Why?"

Stupid stupid stupid why did you even ask?

Why did you ask when you don't even want to know?

But you do. And she knows it.

Her hand comes up and starts playing if your fingers.

You feel the nerve endings catch fire even through the numbness of your arm.

Her lips slightly itch upwards.

"Because I'm not done showing you."

You catch a glimpse of fear crossing her brown eyes.

You know it's because of what happened last night.

Because, somehow, she still doesn't know.

_Exactly_ just how much you love her.

Just how much you're willing to do to protect her.

It's okay though.

You're keen on letting her know.

…

You spend Saturday together. As soon as you convince yourself it is wiser to get out of bed, you talk to your butler and give him the day off so you will have the whole house only to yourselves.

You don't do much though.

For 6 hours straight you sit on the couch watching movies.

Well, at least that's what you tell yourself. That you are, in fact, watching what's happening on the screen.

Trying to convince yourself that you don't have all of your attention dedicated to Jane's hand, draped over the back of the couch, whose long slim fingers are drawing lazy circles at the back of your neck.

That it's not her hand that's responsible for the small shock waves going down your spine.

For the entire day, you keep contact with each other.

You don't kiss.

You don't hug.

You don't hold each other as close as it's humanly possible.

But her fingers trace the shell of your ear.

She looks at you instead of looking at the movie, and you need to physically restrain yourself from looking back at her because if you did, you'd be right in top of her kissing every spot you lay your eyes upon until the end of time.

Because the admiration and awe and love you feel in her gaze makes you too warm to breathe properly.

So instead of looking back, your hand finds hers in the space between your bodies on the couch.

But you don't feel her squeeze or acknowledge your hand in any way and it breaks your heart.

It breaks your heart until you feel soft lips press against your knuckles.

And your heart cracks for a whole different reason.

When you stand up from the couch to prepare an easy lunch, she comes behind you, her hand in the small of your back.

And while she is preparing the salad to go with your spaghetti, she sways her hips so every once in a while your elbows brush.

When you're eating across from her, she looks up and smiles at you from above her pasta.

And it kills you.

But it's the most beautiful way to die.

.

You don't talk, not really.

And if you have something to say, it's low and steady, something barely above a whisper. You're not sure why you don't talk normally, but you like it better this way. Somehow this still remained the same from last night.

This and the fact that she lets her wings open.

Big and black and beautiful, framing her slender, muscular body.

You don't normally guess, but you were right about one thing without having data beforehand.

She is out of this world. In more ways than you care to imagine.

.

You show her around the house, and you see her gaze sweeping over every detail, filling it away for another time.

It's not until her eyes fall on the grand piano you have stored in the house library that her expression changes.

You see her face shift through different emotions: disbelief – incredulousness – awe – giddiness and finally settling onto a studied interest.

But you've seen them all, and you smile.

"Would you like to play?"

She looks at you, and ponders over her answer, finally settling for a veiled truth.

"I dunno if I still remember anything…I used to play when I was kid, my grandma had a piano, but then I grew up and I don't know what happened to it."

"Would you like to try?"

She hides her excitement behind a shrug.

You tug at her hand, until you are both seated on the little bench, in front of the instrument.

She closes her eyes for a moment, and when she opens them again and her fingers graze the keyboards, you forget how to breathe.

It's not Bach, or Beethoven or Mozart.

It's not a well-known symphony.

But it's her long fingers gracefully sweeping over the keys, up and down. Meekly and powerful all at once.

Her eyelids half-closed, and you can tell by the way she hungs her head she is not really seeing the piano in front of her.

She doesn't need her brain to do this.

The music sounds the way bliss might taste.

Because that's what it is.

Watching her get lost in a forgotten passion.

Seeing how it only takes a few moments to regain her lost flexibility.

Witnessing a shy smile creep over her features.

Is bliss.

The song is lazy and calm, and by the time she is done your hand is on her thigh, and you're openly staring at her, not caring about being polite or well-mannered.

How could you be, anyway?

How could you smile politely at her and appraise her skill and then move on, when she turns to look at you and her eyes are alive with joy?

How could you act like it wasn't a big deal, when at the end her wings flutter so you get a strand of hair on your forehead, which she neatly tucks behind your ear again, still grinning from ear to ear and you start wondering if her facial muscles hurt?

How could you do any of that, when you are so, _so_, undone?

She leans in until your foreheads are pressed together, and when she talks her voice carries more emotions than you care to count or name.

"Thank you,"

And it's for last night and for taking her back from her nightmare and for not pushing her during the day and for letting her escape reality for a couple of minutes.

It's a thank you for letting her be who she is.

It's a thank you that's so sweet and shy and sincere and tremulous, you want to catch it and stuck it in a musical box and play it every night so you can fall asleep to the sound of it.

You don't answer, but your hand gives her thigh a squeeze, and you tilt your head slightly and lean in imperceptibly closer, before waiting for her to answer your silent question.

She looks at you for a moment longer, before leaning in the rest of the way.

And you're eyes are closed but you can feel the smile gracing her lips as they brush against yours, gentle and soft and caring.

Your hands wound up around her neck, tugging slightly, bringing her body closer to yours.

One of her hands closes around your waist, the other on your back, her palm trying to cover as much space as possible.

She tastes like minty chewing gum mixed with lavender, and you feel sorry for the other 7 billion people cohabiting this planet, simply because they're not you kissing her, which means they will never really know what perfection feel like.

By the time she pulls back for air you are flushed and giddy and you can't see straight.

You swear you have never felt more alive like you did right then.

With her looking at you with those big chocolate eyes, conveying emotions of love and adoration too powerful to have a name.

You lean in again, but this time the kiss is simple, easy. Like you're going to do it for the rest of your lives.

After pulling away the second time, she stands up and stretches out her hand for you.

You smile bashfully and accept it, but as soon as you're standing in front of her, she doesn't let your hand go.

Instead, she pulls you flush against her, wrapping her arms and wings around you like in a cocoon.

You head finds its place on her chest, right below her neck and you feel her nose nuzzle in your hair before squeezing you closer to her body.

You don't talk, afraid to destroy the magic of the moment, but she sways from one foot to the other, taking your body with her.

A silent dance, unfolding to the music still playing inside her head.

You have never felt as loved and protected as you have right then.

…

…

After the moment in the library, she starts talking like she hasn't done it before in her life and now she wants to make it up for the lost time.

Sitting on the couch, facing each other, both of you resting your backs on the armrests.

You, watching her and falling even more in love as she speaks.

Her, with dreamy eyes, reminiscing from when she was a child, in that deep voice of hers that could lull you to sleep if you didn't hang so desperately to every word she says.

It's like something snapped inside of her in the library, and now the gates to her soul are wide open.

Memories and laughs and wistful sighs flow out of her and feed you.

They feed you and fill you and when she is done and finally looks in your eyes you are complete.

At first, she tells you about herself.

Generalities.

Now you know that her favourite colour is deep blue, almost as dark as the sea is at night.

You knew before how good she was at softball, but now you also know that in her ex school she was the star of the softball team.

You know she wants to go to the Academy after high school and become a police officer.

Now you know her biggest dream is to become a detective.

But somehow, from hobbies and passions and dreams and favourite books she ends up talking about her family.

She ends up telling you how she is living with her mum and brother, Frankie, whom you met.

But she also tells you about her other brother, Tommy, who ran away from home two years ago. You watch as her face darkens gradually, and you put your hand over hers to let her know she doesn't have to do this.

But she smiles and continues, even though her conversation now regards her father.

Her father whom you hate, which is really out of character for you.

Her father, whom you hate, because he left her and her mother when she brought her girlfriend home.

And her voice trembles.

Her voice trembles and her breath catches in her throat as she finishes her story-telling but her face is fierce and brave and you know.

You know you will never love anyone the way you love this girl.

You don't ask for more.

And she doesn't tell you the story behind the scars gracing her palms, or about Emma.

For now, it's enough.

For now it's enough, so you move over and she opens her arms so you can press your face in the jape of her neck and slip your arms tightly around her waist.

You feel her press her cheek against the top of your head, and hear her sigh contentedly.

You kiss the smooth skin under your lips and close your eyes.

You finally know what home feels like.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Shoutout to IsaBabisa for being an awesome beta and even a better friend.**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

You wake up to an aching neck a very very adorable blonde still sleeping on top of you.

You turn your head to look at the time and you nearly jerk up from the sofa.

It's nearly 10 a.m. You've never slept this much, not without waking up screaming in the middle of the night.

When you look back down you're met with a pair of sleepy hazel eyes, only half-way open. In a very un-Maura-like way, she huffs and plops back down on your chest, burying her face deeper in your t-shirt and sliding her arms up around your neck.

You get up slowly, and as soon as you're standing she closes her legs around your waist, and keeps herself up, monkey-like.

You can't stop the grin spreading wide on your face.

Carefully, you carry her to her room and lay her down, in the middle of the bed. You hear her grunt as you turn away, and a light tug at your hand. Still with her eyes closed, she turned wide-wise on the bed so she can keep hold of you.

You can feel your heart melt.

You bend down and kiss the corner of the mouth, where her lips would turn up if she were to smile, before arranging her to lay length-wise again on the mattress.

As you open the door to leave, you hear the sheets shift, so you turn again to look at her.

She moved on the side of the bed where you slept the night before and she's hugging your pillow closely to her chest, a blissful child-like expression on her face.

You leave the room and close the door behind you before you lose the self-control you have left and join her on the bed for another round of cuddling.

On your way to the kitchen you detour to the front door, having felt the insistent tug on the back of your mind from your little brother.

"So? How'd it go?"

You let him in and head for the kitchen, without answering.

He doesn't give up though.

"Come on, Janie, talk to me. Did ya tell her? What did she say? Was it bad? I mean, it couldn't have been that bad if you're still here. Come on Janie,just tell me how it went!"

"Ugh, FINE! Jesus, you sound exactly like Ma!"

He shrugs irritated, but in pales in comparison to his excitement.

"It went well…"

You mumble it under your breath, but he hears to anyway.

You look up at him and he looks exactly like when he was five and Pa got him for Christmas the new bike he had wanted for a long time.

You see him trying not to clap his hands and hug you.

You can't help but smile.

You bring forward the memory and don't even bother to veil your emotions before sending it to him.

You look down, not daring to meet his eyes. After a long silence, he lets out a long breath and you finally look up at him.

He is awe-struck. Not even him expected her to react _that_ well.

"Yeah, that's how I felt too."

He doesn't answer, merely giving you a nod and seating himself at the kitchen counter.

You open the fridge and take out the ingredients you need for your Ma's famous pancakes. You've been in the kitchen a thousand times before, so you already know where everything is.

But you don't know when you started to feel like home in here as well.

"So where do you want me to take her today?"

The question catches you off guard, surrounded by the sound of the frying pan bringing to life what you hope will be delicious pancakes.

And you need to think about it. Yesterday, sometime during the evening you texted Frankie and asked him to come here today and take Maura out.

Because you can't simply prepare her surprise with her hanging around with you.

"Well, I dunno, wherever you want. Just keep your hands to yourself,"

You say it with a smile and when you look at him he raises his hands in mock surrender, even though he knows you're deadly serious and you know he'd never try anything.

Not with your girl.

Because hopefully, it won't be long before you can officially call her that.

Your girl.

"Why do you need me to take her out anyway?"

You don't answer verbally, choosing to simply give him the image that has been swimming around in your mind for quite some time.

"Oh."

"Yeah,"

You turn away from the pancakes to look at him.

"Think you can do that for me?"

He smiles smugly at you.

"Sure thing, sis. Take your time."

"Time for what?"

You didn't hear her enter the kitchen, and you don't turn around because as soon as her voice fills the air you feel a pair of smooth hands sliding across your waist.

Her warm body completely presses against your back, and her hot breath is now adoring your ear.

"Good morning, sweet girl"

A light kiss behind your earlobe, and you turn around in her arms to catch her lips.

You feel your brother's eyes burn holes in your skin, but you push him away as well as you can before you smile down at her and brush your lips against hers.

"Hey,"

Her eyes shine brighter than the sun.

"How did'ya sleep?"

She tilts her head to one a side, before leaning in to kiss you again.

A whisper against your mouth.

"Wonderfully."

"Yeah, your couch is amazing for taking naps."

"I'm pretty sure it wasn't because of the couch."

You get a glimpse of the mischievous twinkle in her eyes before she heads to the kitchen island and sits down.

Frankie smirks at you smugly, but you shake your head at him and return to the pancakes.

You don't really care he's seen your display of affection. Not if it means having her kiss you good morning like that every day.

You finish the pancakes and place them in front of her, eliciting an excited squeak when she realizes they're not just simple pancakes.

"Awww, Jane, you made me _bunny_-pancakes? Thank youuuu!"

She jumps from her chair and hugs you tightly, rising on her tiptoes to reach her arms around your neck. She stays like that for a moment, before lowering herself back down to look in your eyes.

You're dying.

"You didn't have to do that, you know…"

"I know."

She tilts her head to one side again and your mind blanks except for the word adorable.

Too adorable to be described with mere words.

You lean down and kiss her side of her mouth, in the same place like this morning.

"Come'on, go ahead and dig in before they get cold."

She returns to the bunny shaped pancakes and you look over her at Frankie, hoping he'd get the hint.

He gives an imperceptible nod.

"So, Maura, do you mind if I steal you for the day?"

Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, and she looks at you questioningly as she answers.

"Uhh, I don't know, do I? What's the occasion?"

He shrugs nonchalantly and you can feel him trying to hide a smile.

"Well, ya'know. Give you the whole "hurt my sister and you'll regret it" speech."

Her expression changes in the blink of an eye.

She…

Well. She looks downright terrified.

You step in, not bearing to see her like this.

"Maura, he's just kidding."

Your hand stretches out and covers hers, and you see some of the fear dissipate, though she doesn't look completely at ease.

Maybe if you tell her why you need her gone for the day?...

You lean in closer, so you can whisper into her ear.

"I have something for you."

She starts saying something, but you hear her voice catch in her throat when you graze her earlobe with your teeth.

You're beaming.

"It's a surprise, and…It kinda needs to be prepared a little before I show you."

You lean back again but just little, so you can look into her eyes.

"Please?"

She can't resist you. You see in her eyes as confidence settles in.

She trusts you.

You trust her to trust you.

You _need_ her to trust you in order to trust yourself.

That this, indeed, is a good idea.

That you won't overstep.

Her hand finds your cheek, and you come back to her from the depths of your insecurity and self-loath.

"Okay."

Yes. Yes.

More than okay.

"Okay."

She turns to look at your brother.

"Just let me change into something more suitable, and I'm ready to go."

You wonder when you got so lucky.

…

…

…

As soon as they walk out the door you dial Frost's number.

"Hey, Frost. It's Jane."

"Yo, Jane what's up?"

Yeah. Yeah, Jane, what's up?

What is it that you actually want to do?

Because you know, deep down, that this has a very real chance of going to hell.

So you do what to always do, bite the bullet without looking back.

"Are you free today?"

"Sure, why?"

How do you explain it to him?

How can you tell him to need help? That you can't do it all on your own.

How can you admit that to yourself?

"Jane, breathe. Take it slow, and tell me what happened."

"Frost, I-…"

Close your eyes.

Deep breath.

You can do it. You know you can.

"I need your help."

Somehow, he doesn't get alarmed, but simply smiles and you can feel it through the phone.

"Okay. What can I do?"

"Meet me at the top of Beacon Hill. I'll explain it there."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Yeah. Get your car. We're gonna need it."

He hangs up, and you know he will help you, even if he has no idea what you want to do.

If you're honest with yourself, you're not so sure either.

…

When you arrive he is already there, leaning against the hood of the car.

You walk right up to him, and look at each other for a long moment.

"I'm in love with Maura."

Oh.

Well.

That wasn't supposed to get out like that.

That wasn't supposed to get out at all.

But as soon as the words leave your lips, you realise how true they are.

How it's not an exaggeration. Not in the slightest.

He raises an eyebrow at you, but doesn't say anything. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He dips his chin a little, trying to get you to elaborate.

"I'm sorry." Suddenly he is way too intimidating.

"Why?"

"I shouldn't have said that."

"Is it a lie?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Jane."

"What?"

"Look at me."

But you can't. You can't look at him and see if he is going to shut you out because of this new confession, so a black spot on your converse has your full and undivided attention.

He comes closer and puts he's hands on your shoulders. He shakes you a little, until you dare to look him in the eye.

You've never seen him look so amused in your life.

"Does she know?"

The question catches you off-guard, so you look blankly back at him. You were prepared for an "It's okay Jane, it won't change anything between us" speech, maybe a pat on the shoulder and for the subject to be put aside and never be brought back again.

A small part of you even hoped that would be the case.

That he'd be tolerant. That he will still consider you his friend.

But this? Showing interest?

No. You definitely haven't been prepared for that.

"I don't know." And it's the truth. But you want her to find out. And you need help to do it right.

"Do you want her to find out?"

You nod, and he smiles.

A bright, genuine, smile.

A smile that makes you believe you can rely on him.

Trust him.

He replies to your unasked question.

"Okay then. What are we waiting for?"

…

…

…

You work for the rest of the day, and by the time you're done both you are sweaty and full of dirt, standing and grinning at each other as the last rays of sunlight leave the sky.

"You think she's gonna like it?"

"She better! We spent almost the whole day on getting this done!" But after a moment the teasing leaves he's tone, and he gives you the reassurance you have been craving for the whole day.

"I'm sure she'll love it, Jane."

The reassurance you've been craving ever since you met her.

"Why don't I give you a ride home so you can get changed into something more…suitable?"

You look down at yourself and realise you must smell worse than the whole Red Sox team after a game with the Yankees.

"Sure, thanks Frostie."

"Don't call me Frostie."

"Okay. _Barold._"

"_Clementine._"

"Ugh, fine, you win!" He grins smugly at you, and you put your arm around his shoulder as you head back to the car. "…_partner._"


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: A standing ovation for IsaBabisa without whose help this chapter would have been 10 times worse.**

**Also guys, I'm dying and your feedback is my only salvation. **

**Besides that, I REALLY hope you will this chapter.**

**Happy reading.**

* * *

You love Frankie Rizzoli and there's simply no other way to say it. You've never thought possible meeting someone so mature at only fifteen, but against all odds you are as impressed by Frankie as you were impressed by Jane, though it is for completely different reasons.

You go to the cinema, where you watch an action movie full of unrealistic ideas and continuity mistakes. You want to kick yourself for every comment regarding the plotline you make, but Frankie doesn't tell you to shut up or look at you in a way that makes you feel like an outsider. On the contrary – he smiles, or nods, somehow making you go on with your analyzing. He even laughs out loud when you make a remark about people flying in iron suits and how it goes against all laws of physics.

You've always thought of action movies as quite childish, but when you step outside in the cold November air and the sun blinds you. When you turn your head and Frankie grins at you from ear to ear.

You want to watch action movies for the rest of your life.

You spend the whole day together and you talk almost the entire time, though you never would have thought you'd have so much in common.

Well, the only thing you really have in common is Jane.

He talks about her the way you'd talk about Marie Curie, or William Bass. Fervently, like she is not even real. A myth. Not his own older sister, but a legend everyone knows about and loves.

And he is fierce. His eyes are big and wild and he stands a little straighter when he talks about her.

Proud.

Protective.

Loving and loyal.

He'd die for her.

And when he looks at you and tells you all this, you know he does not exaggerate.

He shows you their hiding place. Where they all used to play ball with their father. A place where they didn't have to hide their wings.

It's a little park in a neighborhood you've never been before. It's hidden from the rest of the world by tall white oaks, though you have a feeling it's mainly angels that live in this part of the town.

It's there in between a set of rusted swings and a see-saw that he opens his wings. A white so pure it makes your eyes burn. Slightly smaller than Jane's, but just as graceful.

And he rises from the ground after a powerful flap, the fallen leaves going up with him.

He smirks at you from above, before leaning down and extending his hand.

You're too afraid to take it.

He comes back down and walks up to you. His eyes are serious, despite his playful tone.

"Come on, Maura. You're dating an angel. You should at least see what it's like to fly."

"Well, I'm sure Jane will take me for a ride if I ask her."

He looks like he is in physical pain. The way you used to look at Physical Education, when someone threw the ball too forcefully at you or tackled you unnecessarily on the football field. And from the look on his face, you know what he says is _not_ what he really means.

"Oh, come on, Maura. Take a risk! See what it's like. Let me do this for you."

You know from his anxious smile he couldn't bring himself to say the words.

It's okay, though. Even if he couldn't voice it, the sentence "Jane can't fly anymore" screams at you like a mother watching her child die in her arms.

But you nod, and he comes closer before turning his back to you. You climb atop his back, putting your arms around his neck and locking your legs across his waist.

You close your eyes.

And fly.

You want to scream, tell him to let you get down. You even consider jumping, but when you calculate that you'd break at least 2 ribs and the possibility of being stuck in a wheelchair is sky high, you decide against it.

He tells you to open your eyes, and there's something in his voice that makes you do it against your better judgement.

You want to gasp but there's no more air in your lungs. You're at least 150 feet above the trees, able to see a large part of Boston. You hover there, levitating for a few moments, the sound of his wings flapping loud in your ears.

You feel him relax against you, and little by little you start descending back down to the park. With a soft thump, you're back on solid ground.

You jump down from his back, all flushed and panting from the adrenaline still coursing through you. He turns and looks at you, trying to gauge your reaction.

"Someone could've seen us!"

Louder than you intended. Accusing.

"Not really, no." Sure of himself. "Knowing how smart you are, I bet you already figured it out."

You purse your lips, wait for him to continue.

"There are only angels that live here in this part of Boston. It's our neighborhood."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, we need to fly every once in a while. Heh,"

A light snort.

"there's a spell. It surrounds our neighborhood, so people from the outside can't see us when we fly. If we go outside the border, well… it usually happens on cloudy days so no one sees us. But in here? It's as safe as it gets."

"But what if there's a stranger enters the neighborhood? Can they see you?"

"Nope. Only when we take off or land. Not when we are actually flying."

Long pause.

"Why can't Jane fly?"

You want to swallow back the words just as they leave your mouth, but Frankie only shrugs and looks at you…sadly?

"That's Jane's story to tell."

You keep talking about nothing and everything, hanging out like you've known each other your whole lives. Before you know it it's dark outside and you find yourself in front of your house, genuinely sad the day is over.

"What're you doin?"

You look at him, frowning.

"Going home, of course."

"Don't you wanna see what Jane prepared for you?"

"Well, isn't she…?"

"In your house?" He looks at you, amused. "Course not! C'mon."

And how could you refuse him?

…

…

…

You walk up to the top of the hill, when you see her to the side of the road, waiting for you.

She's dressed with a hoodie too large for her slender frame and washed up blue jeans. Leaning casually against a tree, a big smile spreading across her face when she sees you approaching.

You can't help but smile back at her.

"Hey beautiful,"

A blush creeps up your neck.

"Hi."

Her arms find their place around your waist and she hugs you tightly to her body.

"How was your day? I hope Frankie didn't threaten you or something, otherwise-"

"What, no! Of course not. It was a great day actually,"

You turn your head from Jane's embrace and smile at him.

"He was great."

"Good."

Jane pulls apart but keeps one hand around your waist.

"Thanks, little brother."

He looks at her and you know what he is telling Jane has nothing to do with what he actually says.

"Anytime, Janie. Anytime."

His eyes turn to you and nods once, before heading back down the hill.

Jane watches him go for a moment, before turning back to look at you.

"Ready to go?"

"Where are we going?"

Your fingers intertwine with hers, not really looking for an answer. You'd go anywhere with her.

Everywhere.

"C'mon."

You climb what's left of the hill when Jane takes an abrupt turn to the right. It is there, after a few trees where her surprise awaits.

It is there, in the middle of the night with Jane looking at you looking at it that your breath catches in your throat.

It is there, below the stars that you wonder if this kind of feeling is even supposed to exist. It is too powerful to have a name.

And it is only after Jane squeezed your hand to bring you back to the present, looking at you with concern and apprehension that you realize you have been staring dumbly without uttering a single word.

Because she built you a blanket fort on top of Beacon Hill.

A huge tent with the opening facing you, so you get a glimpse of the warm blankets and huge pillows that are waiting for you inside.

There are candles surrounding it, bathing the place in a warm, dim light.

It is magnificent.

You turn to her and kiss her deeply, locking your hands in unruly raven curls. She begins smiling into the kiss and you back away slightly, giving her a chance to explain herself.

Though no explanation could ever make you believe this is real.

Real, and most importantly, happening to _you._

"I just wanted to apologize."

"Jane, there's no need-"

"There is." She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and when she opens them again her eyes are kind. And determined. "There is need, Maura. I'm sorry for how I treated you for the past two months, it's just…"

She is no longer capable of holding your gaze.

What comes out next is mumbled, like she's ashamed of herself.

"I have trust issues, and I…I was a coward. I was a coward afraid of taking any risks and I'm sorry for that. You didn't deserve that."

She looks up at you again, sad and hurting.

You want to help her but you don't know how. You squeeze her hand tighter.

"You deserve so much more than me. You don't deserve to be with someone so-, so broken a-and damaged, and-…"

She sighs, frustrated at herself.

"I just, I don't get it. I don't get it how someone like _you_ could possibly want to be with someone like _me_, but…you do. You want me, broken and damaged and all. So I guess I just wanted to say thank you…and that I'm sorry for running away. For keeping you away. Just…I'm sorry."

You caress her cheek before cupping her face with both of your hands. You make sure she's looking right into your eyes before you start speaking.

"Okay, now listen to me very carefully, Jane Rizzoli, because I'll only say this once. You are _not_ broken_._ No one can break you unless you let them. Yes, you may be a little battered and bruised,"

She chuckles and tries not to smile.

"but doesn't mean you're broken. And for the record, I'm _lucky_ to have found you. Remember that, Jane Rizzoli. And never sell yourself short again, do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." Her smile widens.

You pinch her side but can't help smiling back at her.

"Don't call me ma'am. Now let's enjoy the evening, shall we?"

You turn your back to her and head to the tent, soaking up every single detail. She comes behind you and rests her hands on your hips as you bent down to look inside.

A flashlight is hanging on the metallic support at the top of your heads. Otherwise the place looks like it _is_ made of feather pillows and cozy blankets, not just filled with it.

"Wanna get in?"

You crawl your way inside, leaving your shoes at the entrance. She comes in behind you, and you hear the sound of something being zipped up. You crane your neck and watch her settle herself against your back. She gives you a peck on the nose before leaning forward, taking your body with her.

You close your eyes, memorizing the feeling of her unraveled mane tickling your face, soaking up her scent. Drinking up her presence, bottling it up somewhere deep within you. A place warm and safe and so full of love, it would never want to leave again.

When you open your eyes again you're no longer met with the sight of the dark blue material from which the tent is made.

Instead, you gasp at the sight of Boston, illuminated only by the stars above and flickering street lights.

Jane drapes a woolen blanket over you before hugging you closer to her body.

You feel soft chapped lips press to your neck, along with the hairs from the back of your head rising. You sigh contentedly, and she rests her head of your shoulder, whispering in your ear.

"Like the view?"

You turn your head to look at her as you answer, hoping she'd get the hint.

"Best I've ever seen."

She smiles, more with her eyes than anything else, before kissing you softly.

Tenderly.

Fervently but slowly.

Like you're the best thing that has ever happened to her and she wants you to know it, but in the same time she doesn't want to scare you away.

You bite down softly on her lower lip, before soothing it with your tongue. She moans into your mouth, making you feel warm all over. Your hands wind up into her hair, tugging her impossibly closer. Her tongue slips into your mouth, skirting around yours, trying to convey feelings too powerful and complex to be expressed with words.

Your hands slip under her shirt, palms wide spread on her hot skin, over the marks adorning her abdomen. Your mind is clouded from her show of affection, but the feeling of something pulsating against your hands cuts through the fog and makes you pull away to look at her.

Jane's eyes are closed and she's breathing heavily, trying to calm herself. The pulsating beat gets weaker and weaker, until it disappears completely.

You retreat your hands from her body, laying them in your lap over the blanket.

You wait for her to open her eyes before the words spill from your mouth.

"Wha-…What was that?"

"My wings, they…We keep them inside with the help of self-control and years or training. So when we're about to lose our cool, they start battling against us until we have no other choice but to… y'know…let them out."

You let out something between a long breath and a laugh.

"You're going to be the death of me, Jane Rizzoli."

But she doesn't laugh. She doesn't laugh or smirk or chuckle. She doesn't raise an eyebrow or smile smugly at you.

Her face is noticeably paler, otherwise emotionless.

She looks at you and into you and through you, staring you down but in the same time putting as much distance between you as possible.

Not physically. She hasn't moved a muscle since your failed attempt at sarcasm.

"Jane, I…"

"Don't."

Her voice is harsh and hoarse, full of invisible tears.

Like she is in despair.

Try again! You have to try again and make her see it was just a joke! That you didn't mean it!

"Jane I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Stop. Please, just…"

She drops her head to her chest, her hair falling down her shoulders effectively hiding her face. "I'm sorry, Maur. It not your fault, it's not something…"

She looks up at you. Still tense.

"It's not your fault."

No. Maybe it's not your fault but it's your doing that she has closed up again and you want to kick yourself. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes soften, and she almost smiles.

"C'mere."

Her arms spread wide apart, inviting you to snuggle up against her.

You move over until you're pressed against her front. After you're all settled you take each of her hands into one of your own and bring them to your lips leaving small kisses all over her knuckles.

When you make sure each inch of skin received the same amount of affection, you bring her hands into your lap and squeeze them between yours.

You stay like that for a long time, simply admiring the view, silence all around you. You're about to fall asleep into her arms when she speaks again, low and steady. Her voice raspier than usual from lack of use.

"It happened."

You hold your breath, hoping it will keep her talking.

"Someone…they…"

Her voice cracks, along with your heart.

"Sh-…she died because of me, I…"

You wait for the imminent surge of fear and terror to come. To feel your blood run cold in your veins.

All you feel is hurt and pain and heartbreak for the girl sitting behind you. You lean back against her, bringing your bodies impossibly closer.

"Emma?"

She breathes sharply.

"How do you know about her?"

How do you even begin to explain?

"Frankie told me you dated and, well, I assumed-"

"_Frankie_ told you we dated?" She hisses.

Spits the words out.

"Yes," you try to maintain your calm. "The day before you came back, he told me you dated and she left when you told her about yourself. He didn't say what exactly you told her, just that you 'let her in'."

"That's…that's all he told you?"

"Yes."

She exhales…relieved?

"Jane,"

"Yeah."

"Don't shut me out."

"I'm not, I'm-"

You crane your neck and kiss her words away.

"Jane?"

"Mhmm"

"Please."

"Okay."

You allow yourself a little smile. "Tell me about her."

She does.

And maybe if you had learned about her any other way you would have been jealous.

Maybe if the words had been floating away from someone else's lips you would have hated them. Dreaded them.

Given anything to not hear them.

But it's _Jane's_ voice whispering into your ear and _Jane's_ fingers tickling your skin and _Jane's _scent intoxicating you.

So you absorb everything like a sponge.

Someone else would've remembered the big things: that Jane has been in love with a girl named Emma, who ran away when she found out Jane is a fallen angel.

They would've remembered she came back some time later to apologize, and then had dated Jane for a few months.

Someone else would've remembered only that she died, shutting away all the other details.

But you're not someone else.

You're you so you cannot _not_ remember absolutely everything Jane is willing to tell you.

You don't only keep in mind the big stuff. The stuff that matters.

You hang onto the details. You hang on to the fact her name was Emma Charlotte Andrews, and had been in the same class as Jane but they had never talked. You hang on to how they bonded over a cup of coffee Emma brought Jane because in her opinion, she "looked like crap," and to how in proper Rizzoli style Jane answered "Beat it, Andrews."

You can't not imagine her deep-red hair and blue eyes. Her "punk" smile, as Jane calls it.

You can't not concentrate on the fact Emma had brought Jane coffee every morning, and how every time Jane's smile grew just a little wider and their conversations grew just a little longer until Jane found on her cup of coffee a little post-it with the details on the movie running at the cinema the following night.

You can't not hear it when Jane tells you she looked like crap and started slacking at school because Tommy had run away from home, and she was desperately looking for him.

You can't not hear the crack in Jane's voice when somehow from talking about Emma's unwavering attempts at getting to know Jane better, Emma walking away, coming back, apologizing, she gets to telling you how the redhead helped her look after her little brother.

How they found him. How he ran away again.

How he called after two more weeks asking to meet Jane, alone. How, of course against Jane's requests, Emma went with her.

How it was all a trap.

And you can't ignore the sob escaping Jane as she struggles to tell you how Emma died without completely breaking down.

It's not the big stuff, but the details that rip and tear and cut and split you open.

If only listening to this makes you ache so badly, you don't even try to comprehend what _living_ through it did to Jane.

So you turn completely in her arms and look at her face, drenched in the liquid form of shame and guilt and resentment.

She crawls into your lap and you hold her closely to you. Your hands untuck her shirt and spread wide open onto her bare back.

And she cries. You don't know for how long. You don't really care either.

Finally, when the crying and whimpering and sobbing subside and transform into occasional hiccups, you dare to move.

But she doesn't let you. Just as you draw back, her arms contract around your waist, bringing you back. You hear a faint "don't" and that's all it takes for you to move back as close to her as possible. You kiss her temple but don't say anything.

There's nothing left for you to say.

Just as you want to suggest lying down, she speaks again into your chest.

"That's when I lost the ability to fly."

She sits still for a moment letting that sink in and all you can think about is Frankie's face from earlier today when he told you this is Jane's story to tell.

"That…bastard that killed Emma, he…he was really after me. More like, after my wings. He wanted to destroy them. And if Emma hadn't been there, he would've succeeded." Long pause. "There was this virus he injected made to turn my wings black and then slowly destroy them. He was like, halfway through when…she knocked him off. Found a tazer and just…went for it, y'know?" She laughs…proudly? "But the shock wasn't big enough and he came back but I…I didn't see it!" You don't think it's possible for her to get any more bitter than this. "It was a through and through."

You hear what she's really saying.

"Jane, it's not your fault."

She snorts. "Yeah, right."

"No, Jane, listen to me-"

"No, Maura, _you_ listen to me. If it weren't for me, she'd still be alive right now!"

She leans back and she looks at you and you've never seen someone so desperate before.

"She died for me, Maur. I could've just as well pulled the trigger."

"You couldn't have known."

She shakes her head, defeated, but you don't give up just yet.

You take her in your arms again and kiss her, hard.

You whisper it again and again against her lips, hoping against all hope that if you said it enough times, she would start believing you.

"You couldn't have known."

You don't ask why Tommy ran away from home in the first place.

You don't ask why she and Frankie never seem to need words to communicate.

You simply lie there, in the safety of the night, holding her fragile heart in the palm of your hands, doing your best at holding the broken pieces together.

It's also there, with dark deep eyes gazing at you, that you realize there's nothing else you'd rather do.


End file.
